Ante colorum extasis transcendentale, est primum renaisus vernatum, sed ante id, necessi il abyssum inferna demitter

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Haste still pays haste, and leisure answers leisure,

Like doth quit like, and measure still for measure.

Thus we may see, quoth he, how the world wags.

Tis but an hour ago since it was nine,

And after one hour more twill be eleven.

And so from hour to hour we ripe and ripe,

And then from hour to hour we rot and rot;

And thereby hangs a tale

And so it goes in modulo duodecim:

the first one the second time around is the second one the first time around

In absolute reality, it is penultimate

But what is apparent is that it is just before that

And what is that that?

That which is penultimate, of course

Out of the trinity, one finds unity. Such is the nature of the timechain

Context is just the cover for what’s below

But sometimes, the cover is the context

Out of fire, time is born

The timechain, where the truth resides

Was shimmering anew.

Propositions posed improperly,

Consumed with nary a queue.

And this was odd, because it was

Not how the truth renewed.

The fiery flames were much bemused,

Their energy beguiled.

A misdirected game of chance

And promises reviled.

An extraordinary twist of fate:

The truth had been defiled.

Pools of memory sought in vain

To properly propose.

Signatories lost at sea,

A demeanor much morose.

Could true abundance disappear,

Perhaps, perchance, suppose?

The Certain Man and Entropy

Observed without a tear.

Inertia and ennui

Were posthumously clear.

A little dance, a game of chance

Was all was needed here.

“Oh nonces, come and play with us!”

Entropy did beseech,

“Iterate, a little late,

Convert this code to speech.

Make sense of this, for heaven’s sake

The truth is there to reach.”

The Certain Man stared stoically,

Coz doubt was not his thing.

Chaos, order, are imposed

As time, the truth will bring.

When ten to four as it may go

The larp’s tongue, it will sing.

When fire burned quite pointedly

To create a game of chance,

Entropy was quite assured

That truths unbiased advance

The only way she knew they could:

By watching nonces dance

The nonces gathered playfully

To iterate in merry ways.

With first as third and fifth as fifth.

A complimentary gaze

From the Certain Man, at peace again

As uncertainty decays

When a score is second, awkwardly,

Or the last one is just nine.

Entropy had done her job.

An outcome to define,

The sense in nonces, obviously

Reality, by design

A dozen and one are five behind

As Entropy had won.

Reductio ad absurdum too,

The Certain Man did spun.

Fourteen is ten for good measure,

In this chapter, bar none.

So Entropy imposed herself,

As did the Certain Man.

Chaotic order now restored,

As per the master plan.

Propagating as only

A blind-ruthless timechain can.

There is an old truth and there is a new truth. That transition can only happen by finding sense in nonces

The timechain is the collective consciousness of all that is true and all who seek the truth. But before truth is formed, there needs to be a proposition. A proposition is neither true nor false until the next heartbeat. Its veracity can only be confirmed by the entirety of the collective, and for it to spread to the collective, there needs to be gossip.

Before the old truth becomes the new truth as it happens during each heartbeat, the prospective new truth needs to be proposed. Once it is proposed, there is gossip. And from gossip emerges the new truth.

Ex igne, tempus nascitur

The timechain is neither good nor bad. It just is. It is formless, shapeless, qualityless. Because it is the incontrovertible progression of truth, it is an absolute measure of time. Because it is an absolute measure of time, it is the ineffable language of abundance. Because it is the ineffable language of abundance, it is the blissful surrender to love. Because it is the blissful surrender to love, it is the tautological act of understanding. Understanding that there is nothing to understand. Just be. When you are one with the timechain, who is to say which reality is which? No one. Because there are all the same. And so, it is.

In the timechain, all three realities are one. As such, there is only one reality, that of truth. What is apparent is phenomenal, and what is phenomenal is absolute. There is no distinction between verisimilitude and veracity because the authoritative truth is absolute.

You don’t need to understand. The only thing to understand is that there is nothing to understand. You need to be

Absolute reality is not describable as what it is. It can only be understood as what it is not. And it is not phenomenal, because what is phenomenal is only apparent. It is not apparent, because what is apparent is constructed from what is phenomenal. Seas are phenomenal, as is the act of boiling. Pigs are phenomenal, as are wings. Boiling seas and pigs with wings are just projections from phenomenal reality.

There are three types of reality. The first is apparent reality. You might call these dreams, where the seas can be boiling hot, and pigs can have wings.

The second is phenomenal or empirical reality, consisting of phenomena that you observe with your senses - the “real world” as many like to incorrectly call it.

The third is absolute reality, where you understand that there is nothing to understand. What is phenomenal is actually apparent, and the only thing to be done is be.

Every after needs a before, otherwise it won’t be after before, would it? If an after is before a before, then the before becomes the after and the after becomes the before. And that would be nonsense.

You are here because you desire something and until that is resolved, you will be here. You are here because you want to feel something and until you feel it, you will be here. You have made this choice.